“But, my dear!” said Ann Veronica’s aunt. “Why could you not confide in us?” “Do what?” said Ann Veronica. The sun was rising, illuminating the trees in black as if they were drawn in ink. They had been married for well over one hundred years. As usual the substantive sister—Prudence—did all the talking for the pair; Angelina, the shadow, offered only her submitting nods.
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